


even the most delicious of black holes

by suitablyskippy



Category: Gintama
Genre: F/F, Fruit Picking, Other, Unrivalled Food Preparation Skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:57:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7907437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitablyskippy/pseuds/suitablyskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve been practising all week,” Kyuubei assures her. “I can tell a ripe strawberry from an under-ripe one from an over-ripe one at fifty paces. No one can hope to stand against us, Tae-chan.”</p><p>“I almost hope they try, though,” says Tae wistfully. “A crushing victory is always so much more satisfying when you actually have to crush someone to achieve it, don’t you think?”</p><p>(It's rarely a wise idea to stand between Tae and what she wants. Right now, what she wants is fresh seasonal produce.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	even the most delicious of black holes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'on a date' for [Gintama Femslash Week](http://gintamafemslash.tumblr.com/post/148380677583/hi-im-really-sorry-to-remake-this-post-again) (...although I don't consider this ship femslash, BUT it was eligible under the rules and since when have I been able to resist a Kyuubei/Tae fic prompt??? SINCE NEVER), and also for the prompt 'fruit picking', from a fic meme that went around a little while ago.

 

Tae is a woman who knows her own mind. She’s also a woman with the confidence, strength of will, and natural authority to make sure that everyone else knows her mind as well. 

“Shin-chan, you’re with Gin-san. Supervise him,” she commands, “for your own sake far more than mine. It won’t be me who’s left cleaning up his bathroom if he gorges himself to the point of diarrhoea and vomiting. And Kagura-chan – you know I’d stay with you under normal circumstances,” she says, her voice softening, “but I don’t want to hold you back. You should be free, Kagura-chan. Find your own space and do whatever you want, and don’t let anyone stand in your way.”

“Boss lady,” says Kagura. With one hand she rubs tears from her eyes; with the other hand she shoves another handful of strawberries into her mouth. She seems too overwhelmed to speak again, though whether she’s too overwhelmed by emotion or by strawberries Kyuubei couldn’t say. “I won’t forget this,” she manages, already backing away through the bushes, both hands already filled again with strawberries, “I’ll never _ever_ forget it, boss lady, uh-huh, I’ll—”

But then she crams both handfuls into her mouth at once and turns and sprints away, and whatever she would have said next is lost to the storm of dirt that kicks up in her wake. 

“And Sadaharu-kun,” says Tae. “You can go with Shin-chan and Gin-san. I know Kagura-chan split her curry with you last night, so make sure you give the field lots of lovely free fertiliser, won’t you? Perhaps the smell will help Gin-san to control himself a little better.”

Sadaharu’s fur is already stained red around his mouth, but such is frequently the case; there’s no guarantee it’s strawberry juice rather than blood. He yips, and bounds off after Shinpachi, who has managed to travel only three rows over before getting drawn into desperate physical struggle to hold Gintoki back from diving face first into the nearest ripely flourishing strawberry bush. The physical struggle turns into a brawl when Sadaharu launches into the middle of it, and very shortly into a panicked battle for survival, and as soon as the yelling starts it’s clear it won’t be stopping. 

“Well, we both know none of them are going to come back with anything but empty baskets and stomach-aches,” says Tae, as pragmatic as she is beautiful. “But I wouldn’t have invited them if I wanted help. All I want is the competition eliminated, and I know they’ll do a wonderful job at that, even if they don’t mean to.” On the furthest side of the field a whirling dirt-cloud is storming down the rows: Kagura, set loose to wreak strawberry carnage. Distant figures are fleeing before her: the competition, already being eliminated. With a look of satisfaction, Tae shifts her green plastic basket to her elbow and holds out her hand. “Though of course, that means it’s up to us to gather everything worth gathering. Are you ready, Kyuu-chan?”

“I’ve been practising all week,” Kyuubei assures her, and takes the proffered hand. “I can tell a ripe strawberry from an under-ripe one from an over-ripe one at fifty paces. No one can hope to stand against us, Tae-chan.”

“I almost hope they try, though,” says Tae wistfully. “A crushing victory is always so much more satisfying when you actually have to crush someone to achieve it, don’t you think?”

Kyuubei gives this the consideration it deserves. “There’s always Gintoki, Tae-chan.” 

“That’s very true,” says Tae, and, comforted, she squeezes Kyuubei’s hand a little tighter. 

 

+++

 

Though the fruit farm had been busy on their arrival, it empties of other strawberry-picking customers at approximately the same rate as it finds itself reduced to churned and leafless dirt by the frenzy of Gintoki and his Yorozuya. The field is striped with long rows of fruiting strawberry plants, and in them exists the potential for a whole summer of berry-based desserts; it’s essential that Tae is able to strip those rows as bare as possible, as quickly as possible, with as little competition for the richest, ripest spoils as possible. 

A lifetime of training in the Yagyuu style develops transferable skills as vital for fruit-picking as for swordsmanship – speed, agility, split-second decision making – and Tae, too, is swift about her work. Occasionally she remarks aloud on the status of her strawberry selection process; and though her remarks are absent-minded, her attention focused on her work, her observations prove as insightful under these conditions as under any conditions, as always, as ever. 

She tosses a substandard berry away across her shoulder, and remarks, “Berries are always a bit sour if they’re too small, aren’t they?”

After brief consideration Kyuubei concludes that it’s true, and couldn’t be truer, and furthermore just goes to show how naturally perceptive Tae is and always has been, and promptly tells her so. 

“Well, there’s no need to go as far as that,” says Tae, though her tone of voice suggests she doesn’t mind at all if Kyuubei goes as far as that. “It’s just common sense, isn’t it?”

“There’s nothing common about your sense,” Kyuubei says firmly. “It’s uncommon. Rare and unusual. You’ve never had common sense, Tae-chan.”

“I’m sure you meant that to sound more like a compliment than it did,” says Tae, but she’s blushing, pleased, at the strawberry plant currently privileged by her attention. 

Several rows later she observes that the strawberries on her current plant are much riper than on the last one, and wonders aloud why that might be; and then a little later still she exclaims in alarm, and hastens to explain that she’s in no danger, but rather that she just experienced a near miss involving a slug she had failed to immediately notice and had consequently nearly added to her basket, and that since she’s already brought an end to the slug’s pitiful life there’s therefore no need for Kyuubei’s sword to be drawn; and not long after that she expresses the unquestionably shrewd opinion that it really _is_ rather warm for April, isn’t it... And as ever her insights provide Kyuubei with as much food for thought as their shared strawberry collections will provide food for dinner, and together they work on down the rows. 

On the far side of the field Shinpachi’s voice rises through the octaves as he yells, though the field is too broad and Kyuubei currently too disinterested in anything but strawberries and Tae to find out exactly what it is that’s causing him such distress. Not far from him, a high-speed blur of joyful red and red and more red, Kagura rampages gleefully through the rows in the midst of her own personal whirlwind of dirt and shredded foliage. In the next field over, the farm keeps a well-attended petting zoo. From the screams, it seems likely that Sadaharu has discovered it. Whatever competition still remains surely won’t remain for long.

“Kyuu-chan,” says Tae, and holds out her palm. Sitting in it is a fat red strawberry of remarkable colour and size, which Kyuubei can only assume is a direct reaction to it having found itself in Tae’s palm; any fruit with such good fortune would surely blossom to its fullest potential just to please her. “Isn’t it big?” she says, as delighted by herself as she always deserves to be, and curls her fingers over it. 

When she uncurls her fingers, it doesn’t look like a strawberry anymore. It’s neither fat nor red, and the charred black dust flaking from its edges is pulsing like a— 

“Open wide,” says Tae, and Kyuubei obliges at once. 

It doesn’t taste like a strawberry, either. It doesn’t taste much like fruit at all. It tastes like a scientific impossibility or perhaps like blasphemy against every god who’s ever lived, and like the ashes of a house burned down two centuries ago and left to rot ever since in a dump for radioactive toxic waste, and like it’s just been in Tae’s palm – no ordinary, run-of-the-mill strawberry could ever hope to compete with it. 

“Perfect,” says Kyuubei honestly, and kneels up in the dirt to kiss her. It’s a very large field, after all; anyone likely to see has most likely either been stampeded by Kagura, savaged by Sadaharu, permanently deafened by the impressive capacity of Shinpachi’s lungs, or driven into desperate flight for their lives before Gintoki’s gluttonous one-man rampage. 

Still, though: by Kyuubei’s estimate, only nine hours of sunlight still remain. Both in terms of quantities of strawberries obtained and in terms of personal contentment, it seems an inarguable fact that there could be no more rewarding way to spend those hours than squatting in the dirt to scrutinise every strawberry plant in reach for evidence of fruit of a quality acceptable to Tae’s exacting personal standards. 

There’ll be time for frivolities later. Right now, there’s work to be done – vital work, unspeakably important work – and not a moment to waste in doing it. 

 

+++

 

Shinpachi is already waiting at the exit by the time Kyuubei and Tae are done. He’s grey-faced, his expression haunted behind his glasses; with him is Gintoki, slumped down against a wall with his knees drawn into his belly, lost in his own private world of pain. “I did what I could,” says Shinpachi. “I did everything I could, ane-ue. But it wasn’t enough.”

“You tried,” Tae says gently, “and that’s what matters, Shin-chan. Well, it’s not really what matters, because Gin-san’s still going to suffer the violent internal consequences of his actions tonight and probably tomorrow morning as well; but at least for now we can pretend. Why don’t you go and persuade Kagura-chan to come back?”

Wearily, he starts back out across the field towards the centre of the strawberry massacre. 

Gintoki lets out a sound of anguish. “I’m going to die,” he says pitifully, and rolls onto his side. “I can tell. A man can always tell, Otae-san. The last cruel joke this world will ever play on me is turning heaven into hell, because I’m going to die surrounded by strawberries. Any minute now, I expect. _Any_ minute now. I can feel my own death settling on my shoulders, Kyuubei-kun; the precious gift of life within me has been crushed beneath the weight of strawberries. My unbreakable samurai soul is going to break at last, and yet I’ll fight on until my very final—”

Tae steps past him. “Won’t you die a little more quietly?” she says, and lifts her basket up onto the weighing scale. 

“Die in the other direction,” adds Kyuubei, and nudges him with the hard wooden toe of a sandal until he rolls onto his other side. So long as he faces the wall, his own body will bracket in the mess if he should vomit. No one but Gintoki deserves to suffer the consequences of his gluttony, Tae least of all and Kyuubei second to least of all. 

Gintoki lets out an even louder sound of anguish. “If you’ve ever loved me, gather round,” he proclaims, with shameless disregard for Tae’s clearly-stated request that he silence himself. His woeful tone is as tragic as his manners. “I’ve given a lot of thought to my last words over the years, to make sure they’re everything you’d expect from a stupendously popular and beloved shounen protagonist, and I may as well deliver them right here and now, seeing as I’m about to—”

Sadaharu flops down at his side. “ _Hrruf_ ,” he says, and almost gently he swallows Gintoki’s head. 

The numbers on the weighing scale before Tae are flashing wildly. Inside her basket, a roiling black vortex shows every colour at once even while it’s as black as night, blacker than night, black as the void itself. It weighs so much that the numbers on the digital display start flickering in protest, unable to display any higher value than 999.99 kilograms – it weighs so little that Tae lifts her basket and sets it down again, wondering aloud why it’s not registering – it weighs everything and nothing all at once. Reality warps around it. 

The basket itself seems a little blurred, like the air above a heated stovetop. It’s difficult to measure the weight of a black hole, even a delicious one. 

“Is that,” says the man behind the counter. He stops. He peers further into the basket and then jerks away, his whole body recoiling from the sight. He clears his throat, and tries again. “Is that – what _is_ that?”

“The strawberries I picked,” says Tae, puzzled. She peers into her own basket and prods the pulsing, blackened contents with a finger. “Why, whatever else would it be?”

“We took only the best,” says Kyuubei. It’s a challenge, if the man behind the counter chooses to perceive it as such; daring him to object to Tae and Kyuubei’s efficient, comprehensive ransacking of the field. “We took the biggest and ripest you had. All of them. The highest possible quality. Nothing else is good enough for Tae-chan.”

Presumably overwhelmed by the sight of such high quality strawberries, the man behind the counter fails to respond. The ominous shifting colours shining from the basket reflect against his laminated staff badge. “But,” he says, and gets no further. 

“I do hope he’s not going to overcharge us because his equipment’s malfunctioning,” Tae says worriedly to Kyuubei. “It’s been such a nice afternoon, and it would be a shame if we had to end it by exacting retribution for an act of shameless daylight robbery.”

“You won’t have to exact retribution for anything,” vows Kyuubei. “I’ll exact it for you, Tae-chan. You can go and wait with Kagura-chan at the bus stop, so you don’t have to hear the retribution happening.” 

“Would you really, Kyuu-chan?” 

“I’ll bring back proof that it’s done, Tae-chan.”

“Perhaps... a trophy from the corpse, Kyuu-chan?” 

The scope of Kyuubei’s plan promptly extends to include a corpse. “Definitely, Tae-chan.”

Too moved for words, Tae presses her hand against her heart. Before them, atop the weighing scales, the contents of her basket have begun to strobe in flashes of blinding ultraviolet. 

“Just take it,” blurts the man behind the counter. His face has gone the colour of raw egg whites before being whisked, poured, and subjected to Tae’s incomparably skilful cooking technique. His voice rises. “Just take it! Take it and get out of here, I don’t want to see it – _take it_!”

Tae gives him a hard look. “For free?” she asks, ever vigilant on the matter of financial management. 

“I don’t care! I don’t care! Just get that thing _away from me_ —!”

“I suppose that’s for free, then,” says Tae, and takes her basket back. “You don’t get customer service as generous as that every day, do you? I’ll certainly be coming back _here_ next season...”

Kyuubei drops the second basket onto the scales. Its contents are red, ripe, and as yet entirely untouched by Tae’s hands, but—“ _Just take it_!” cries the man behind the counter, near tears, and so Kyuubei does. 

At high speed and high volume, Kagura reappears with nothing to show for her afternoon’s work except a thorough coating of grass stains and strawberry juice. “Gin-chan’s unconscious,” she reports, and kicks him to prove it. “But _I’m_ healthy, uh-huh. I’m a Yato, my insides are much tougher than his. We’ve got acid in our stomachs instead of normal human stuff.”

“Normal humans also have acid in their stomachs,” Shinpachi says, long-suffering – but then he catches a glimpse of Tae’s basket, and turns as green in the face as Gintoki. “Ane-ue, is that – have you, I mean... that’s not, not – it’s _not_ , is it...?”

Words fail him. Kagura peers in to see what he’s looking at too, and promptly turns as green in the face as the rest of her stricken colleagues. 

“Just think how many strawberry cakes I’ll be able to make!” Tae says happily. “We’ll be eating fruit salad all summer, won’t we?”

The silence from Gintoki’s Yorozuya is resounding. 

“I hope so,” says Kyuubei, fervently.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm [over here on tumblr](http://www.suitablyskippy.tumblr.com/), where usually I'm just having a great time daydreaming about Edo's #1 feudal lord/handmaiden relationship. Thanks for reading, and any comments would be appreciated! ♥]


End file.
